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2013.05.26 - Wash, Rins, Repeat
Crashing your ship into a planet sort of does a number on a lot of critical systems. And, given how quickly his quarry has been spreading 31st century tech around to unscrupulous people, Torbin Rins hasn't had a lot of time to stop and play repair guy. He prioritized repairing his equipment to track the specific energy signature that was put out by the prototype tech he's been after. He hasn't until now, had the time to repair the scanner's wider bandwidths. When he did get around to fixing his scanners, they lit up like a Christmas tree. That's...unexpected. That's a lot of 31st century tech. So, in human disguise, the lizard bounty hunter has made his way to the highest concentration of tech. And a high concentration it is. He stops out front of the Legion headquarters and just sort of stares up. "Damn." And one of the pedestrians on the Highline -- which passes through Legion HQ, so just anyone can and does walk through the lobby, every day -- stops next to Rins, mirroring his posture and looking up, and up. It's a black-haired thirtysomething man, black jeans and a dark purple button-down shirt, untucked and unbuttoned over a white t-shirt. Power Rangers Civvies, Baby. "I know, right?" he says companionably, shading his eyes as he looks. That glint on the lifted hand is gold: a Legion flight ring. And that face, despite its relative age, belongs to Rokk Krinn. "How did it get here? I mean..." and then Rins looks over, blinks once, then switches to Interlac. Oh. "Legion Headquarters, comes with one Cosmic Boy. Or maybe more than one. Alternate universes are a bitch." He can't quite hide the grin that twitches at his lips. "What is there, a superhighway from the 31st to here? I took the backroads. No one tells me anything." There's an obvious startle at the recognition, coupled with the Interlac. Rokk's eyes widen as he listens, he starts grinning, and then he bursts out laughing. "Hey, I haven't been Cosmic Boy in years, man. Just Cos. Or my name, that works too." He sticks out his hand, cheerful as anything. "But you have me at a disadvantage. What's your name? And the HQ was a surprise to us all-- but just to ease your mind, none of us are doubled up. This time." "Sorry. You're obviously not a boy. But I bet it's hard to shake that. Torbin Rins." He offers his hand to Rokk. "An honour, really. I had a little ship trouble. Just recently got my scanners up to speed. I kicked it a few times, cursed in a couple languages, then hit it with a wrench. Then this place lit up like a brand new sun. I've been over on the other...across the sea. The place with the stone buildings and lots of languages." He means Europe. "I feel like an idiot for missing this." "Yeah-- I mean, I don't make it any better by answering to it," the Braalian says with a laugh and a shrug, shaking Rins' hand firmly, then gestures toward the building's entrance. "Don't feel like an idiot, you were out of town. If by out of town I mean on another continent. No big. Let's go inside." He starts going, then walks backwards, cheating in not hitting anything because damn Braalians; he's pleased. "Torbin Rins, huh? Where are you from? Your accent's only kind of familiar, but if you're taking back roads across time and space, that probably comes with the territory. Which, are you stuck here, or do you have a functional time machine?" "Stuck. I was chasing a fugitive who had stolen a prototype temporal jump engine. My ship got caught up in the wake. Prototypes, right?" Rins shrugs and grins. He follows Rokk in, and yeah, damn. That's some impressive backward-walkin'. "I uh, I'd be happy to tell you, but I've kind of been pretending to be human, so..." He looks around. "Somewhere we can go where it's nobody here but us aliens?" "Damn," Rokk says with a short burst of an annoyed exhalation through his teeth; he spins to pace Torbin, then open the door. "Yeah. We, uh. We have silverale, if you want to hit the caf. And yeah, Sensor's been hiding, too. This era of Earth history can never decide if it loves or hates people who look different; can't blame you." The grav shafts -- transport tubes -- are spaced regularly, and labelled with instructions in multiple languages. Such a /thorough/ building, this. "Goin' up." Every muscle in Rins' body seems to relax once they step inside. He looks considerably more at-ease. "Finally, some civilization," he drawls. "I've been stuck on this planet for months." He follows behind Rokk. The technology might be familiar, but there's still a certain bit of awe that comes with specifically Legion surroundings. "So how /did/ you get here, anyway? I feel like there's a story here. Oh, but your question first." He looks around, then his face and body shifts. His skin turns orange and spiny ridges raise up from his faces. "Shobadan." His people don't exactly have a stellar reputation, but given his planet is something of a backwater, that's not so surprising. Considering there's a well-known Rimborian Legionnaire, backwater dens of iniquity as planets of origin don't really get any kind of instant distrust. Elia would have! Shobad, not so much. Rokk gives a quick nod, slowing his step to keep pace. "Cool. Actually a more useful question is, what year are you from? And since you're familiar with alternate universes, gods, what kind of a mess is the reality you accidentally ditched?" It's a quick walk to the 'automat'; Rokk gets out a couple of silverales, hands one to Rins, and heads for a table. "And help yourself," he gestures back to the machines. "As far as how we got here-- we've been showing up one at a time. All different years, different timelines, different universes. Usually the catalyst seems to be a rocks-fall-everyone-dies scenario." "Since there are alternate universes involved..." says Rins as he looks down into the silverale, "...there's no kind of bovine of any kind that has come into contact with this, has it? I know it sounds like a silly question, but I've discovered that my bovine allergy is specifically acute when it comes to the Earth-based ones." A lizard who is allergic to cows. Because space. He then goes on to give a quick summary of his universe and his year of origin. "Well hot damn," Cos says finally, finishing off his silverale because it took THAT LONG for that quick summary. It took a SPAN OF TIME. And he had totally answered in the negative about the cow thing. Because space, also. "Tell me more about this Sklarian femme you were chasing, I think we've run into her before. Could she phase like a Bgztler?" FIFTEEN YEARS AGO IN THE FUTURE: A twenty-year-old Cosmic Boy stands, sans pants, completely and utterly shocked at their sudden loss, staring at a pink-streaked-blue-haired Sklarian pirate girl who's grinning at him, holding his trousers up in the air. The Espionage Squad members in the background are various shades of red and/or starting to laugh. The girl tells him, straightening up and cackling, "Much better. You should really know better by now, C.B., no jail's gonna stop *me*." And as she disappears into the floor, looking up at him, she hoots with laughter. "I will *haunt you*." NOW: "Her name's Brita An'nan, she goes by Kono. She is a *huge* pain in the zootie. At least she doesn't hate us like most of the rest of 'em." Rokk stands up to go toss his empty in the recycler. He is somewhat redder than a little silverale should be making him, but /he will remain steadfast/. "I end up chasing the bad ones. I mean, the real bad ones. I don't tend to go after them unless they've already got a rap sheet as long as my arm. I uh," Rins clears his throat. "I used to be a sci cop, actually. Short version? I got a bit heavy-handed and they asked me to leave." He scratches the underside of his chin. "Didn't exactly do the Shobodan reputation proud, if you know what I mean." He lifts a shoulder. "Since then, I've been careful to only chase down the ones who've pretty much already been proven guilty. Corvis is one of the bad ones. He's running around, selling prototype tech to this planet's criminals and ambitious fools. It's a bad scene." There's a little brittle stiffness in Krinn's posture there at the 'if you know what I mean', but by the time Rins is finished, the other man's made himself relax. "Well. If you'd like help finding him and turning him over to the metahuman authorities of this era, the Legion is, of course, at your disposal." There's the most subtle of hints there, a cross between Carrot and Vetinari, all mildness and warning. "Can't do that. I have a contract. I have to take care of him myself." And to the Shobadan, contracts are near-religious documents. It's not unheard of for a Shobadan who breached a contract to take their own life in penance. Rins inclines his head. "Listen, even if you are Quilt Legion, I'm guessing you're still the type to take the moral high ground. I'm a bounty hunter. I don't pretend to be on the same footing as you. I'm seeking out and destroying any of the prototype tech I find, with minimal impact to the indigineous people here. This tech is dangerous and unstable, and it's my responsibility to take care of it." Possibly surprisingly, the stiffness actually leaves Rokk's shoulders. He doesn't want to have to be an asshole-- and now he doesn't have to be. "Then don't tell me anything else. Don't kill him, or we'll have to come after you." Obligatory. Lie to me. It's an out. He waves a hand dismissively, then sits crosslegged in the air, elbow on knee, chin propped on fist. "But you should also know it's impossible to contaminate this timeline. If you find *non*-prototype anachronistic tech, don't immediately assume it's been acquired illegally. Brainy's getting patents." Torbin Rins squints. Squints. "Impossible to contaminate...? Other than the damage already being done, I don't understand..." He pauses, then pinches just below his pointy nose-ridges. "Don't bother explaining. I'll just take your word for it." Handwave, handwave. "My contract wasn't a kill order. I have no intention of killing him. What I want to do is find him. If I want any chance of getting home, I need his temporal jump engine. And don't worry. I've narrowed the signature of the prototype devices down to a few traceable signatures. I'm only imploding the stuff I know Corvis brought with him." He finishes his drink, then stands. Best to go before the conversation strays back to /why/ exactly the sci cops let him go. "It really was great to meet you. And believe me, I don't plan on doing anything that'll make you hand my ass to me in a fight." Just so. This is the way of things, this leaving when there's a pointedly given conversational out. Torbin Rins is marked down in the 'clever enough to get subtext' column in Rokk's mental filing system, and the Legionnaire drops to his feet and smiles, if distinctly more wryly, reaching forward to shake Rins' hand again. "Let me get you back out, it won't let you through without one of us with you." He is as good as his word. Before they reach the exit, Rins has re-humanized himself. Big eyebrow ridges and bony forehead becomes big eyebrows and a thick brow. "In the unlikely event that you need my help with anything, I'll set my scanners to pick up, oh, the frequency they used to broadcast the planetary weather forecast on." And then, the now human-skinned man exits, pausing once more to look out and up at the building before he's on his way. Category:Log